


To Be Lonely

by caprisunkiri



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, Langst, Love Confessions, M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Touch-Starved, Voyeurism, a touch of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprisunkiri/pseuds/caprisunkiri
Summary: On nights like these, where Lance’s mind is a little too loud and the dead silence of rolling through space is absolutely unbearable, he finds himself taking a comfortable seat on the floor in the observation room. With a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders and the entire night sky to his disposal, Lance McClain has never felt more like a God.“Lance?”or; When Shiro disrupts Lance's alone time, and the Cuban is a little more fragile than usual.
Relationships: Lance/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	To Be Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this when I was feeling ~poetic~ lol. it has no particular time period!
> 
> here's your fucking filth.

Lance always loved the stars.

Even as a kid, he was infatuated with the night sky from the comfort of his own planet, naming the constellations and counting the biggest stars he could see until he accidentally dozes off in his mother’s lap. At the Garrison, he’d sneak onto the roof when the prospect of failure felt much too heavy on his wiry shoulders, skin glowing underneath the starlight as his strung body goes lax and his mind grows empty with the peaceful night sky staring back at him. It was nice.

Joining Voltron allowed Lance to take his stargazing to the next level. There’s nothing quite like being _in_ the stars, floating in this soupy mess of space and time they dare call the universe. Though, there’s not much stargazing happening during an intergalactic war.

On nights like these, where Lance’s mind is a little too loud and the dead silence of rolling through space is absolutely unbearable, he finds himself taking a comfortable seat on the floor in the observation room. With a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders and the entire night sky to his disposal, Lance McClain has never felt more like a God.

“Lance?”

“Oh my god,” the Cuban jumps, not expecting anyone to be up at this time of night. Not that night or day is relevant when traveling through space. Clutching his beating heart, Lance turns to the Black Paladin. “Walk louder next time?”

Shiro snorts in faint amusement, legs folding underneath his weight as he takes a seat on the floor next to Lance.

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”

The conversation dies, both of them content with being engulfed in comfortable silence. Though, as Lance quickly gets bored and scrolls through the planets being projected onto the walls, Shiro finally asks, “What are you doing?”

“Observing.” Lance shrugs, finally stopping on a jade-colored planet. Clouds hug it on all sides and Lance finds solace in simply seeing it spin on its axis, stuffing his cheeks with some popcorn-tasting snack Hunk found at the intergalactic supermarket.

Shiro hums, leaning back on his hands as he observes with the brunette, grey eyes tinted with a ring of blue from the display. He doesn’t speak until Lance starts searching for planets again.

“And you do this often?”

Lance shrugs. “When I’m awake.”

“Are you awake often?”

“I don’t know,” Lance shrugs. That’s a stupid question. They don’t have a sun that rises and sets, how is he supposed to know how much sleep he’s getting?

Shiro sighs to his right, scratching under his chin. “What’s wrong, Lance.”

He doesn’t ask—he _demands,_ and Lance hates to say it irks him to his core. With his chin balanced on his knees, Lance clicks on another planet before talking again.

“Nothing.”

_“Lance.”_

The Cuban sighs, turning to look his captain in the eyes for the first time. “If you’re just gonna give me a lecture, can you leave?”

Shiro doesn’t say anything at first—just studies Lance’s being until all the sharpshooter wants to do is melt through the vents and implode in space. Lance picks at the loose strings on his socks and swallows the lump in his throat, wholly and utterly _tired_.

He and Keith got into another argument.

It was just like the rest of them. Lance messed up, they bickered. Keith says things he doesn’t mean and so does Lance, and eventually the Korean storms off in a grandeur fashion, muttering something about needing to train to blow off steam. Lance continues with life, and Shiro forces them to make up in the morning.

But for the first time, Lance cried.

Keith hadn’t said anything outrageously hurtful. He hadn’t even thought of anything new—just the jab about Lance’s incapability to focus and juvenile humor, but for some reason, tonight it stuck. Tonight he called ****Lance a _lonely motherfucker_ and it was so accurate Lance couldn’t help but break down.

Not in front of anyone of course. No. _Never_.

“Fine,” Shiro says, and for a moment Lance expects him to leave. “I’ll drop it. But not forever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Cuban grumbles. He’s tired and sore from today’s battle and worst of all his chest _aches._ He wants to ask for a hug, a hand to hold, or something—but god forbid he look weak in front of the others. Weaker than he already is.

_See? He’s great on his own._

“Hey,” Shiro nudges him with a knee. “Don’t take what he said to heart. You know he’s ju—”

“I know.”

But that doesn’t mean it hurts any fucking _less._

“Are you?” Shiro asks cryptically. Lance’s eyebrows furrow.

“What?”

“Are you…you know. What he said,” Shiro tosses a shrug, but Lance shakes his head. He absolutely does not know. “Lonely?”

Oh.

“‘M fine.” Lance scoots so the distance grows between them, ever so slightly. He doesn’t know where the feeling of being absolutely overwhelmed by Shiro’s presence came from, but it ran up on him so quickly he couldn’t do anything but scoot away.

Shiro’s mouth flattens into a straight line. “Lance. Anything with a pair of eyes can tell that you’re not fine.”

The Cuban’s jaw sets, the fingers increasing their dance with his socks. “Your point?”

“My point is,” Shiro scoots closer, until their shoulders are pressed against one another, and it _burns._ “You don’t have to go through...whatever it is alone. Lean on someone, Lance. We all do it— _need_ it. As much as Keith likes to say it, you’re not a burden Lance. We care about you just as much as the others." 

And he gives a lecture anyways.

Lance swallows, hands opting to choke his ankles in favor of the liquid that burns the backs of his eyes. They shouldn’t. Lance’s screwed up too many times for it to _not_ be considered as a character trait.

“Lance?” Shiro says, and all the water in Lance’s body betrays him. He tries to hide it, blinking quickly as he stares at the floor, but he’s sure Shiro knew it was going to happen before Lance did.

Feeling pity or something akin to that, Shiro coos and pulls Lance into his lap. The Cuban struggles against it but he’s tired, and tears curve over the highest points of his cheek, fists bunched against Shiro’s chest in rejection of whatever affection he’s trying to bestow. Because, when he leaves again, _Lance doesn’t know how he’ll take it._

Shiro’s perplexed by the panic in his eyes, too worried to see that Lance wants him to _let go_ so the Cuban won’t have to deal with the after-effects. Won’t have to deal with mending a heart that wasn’t intended to be broken in the first place.

Lance’s struggle is futile, though. Shiro’s forearms have a vice grip around his waist and no matter how much Lance shoves at his shoulders, the Black

Paladin is marble against him. Lance can’t do much but pant angrily and try to shove his arms between them, because it’s all _too much._

Shiro’s thighs under his thighs, Shiro’s face tucked in his neck, the arms wrapped around his waist; they all make Lance want to scream. Make him want to punch and kick and scream _don’t you know what you’re doing?_ Setting his hopes high and giving him affection, only for him to miss it tomorrow. It’s easier if he just doesn’t get it at all.

Shiro only hugs him tighter, though, the arms curled around his waist sliding up his back and down again. The metal of Shiro’s fingers playing with the short hairs on his neck. He holds Lance like he _wants to,_ and that’s not _fucking fair._

“Let go,” Lance finally manages to choke past the lump in his throat. Shiro’s grip tightens.

“No.”

“Let _go,”_ Lance starts to struggle again and it takes the Black Paladin off guard. For a moment he thinks he may escape, but that proves to be wishful thinking when Shiro’s grip readjusts and Lance is stuck again. Ugh.

“Why won’t you let me hold you?” Shiro sighs, finally removing his face from the crook of Lance’s neck. “What’s so wrong with it?”

“It’s—it’ s bad b-because,” Lance looks at the limp hands in his lap so he doesn’t have to deal with the embarrassment Shiro feels when he realizes Lance is fully _right._ The Cuban clears his throat before re-attempting speech, “Because I’m just sad s-so you say these things to make me feel better, bu—”

“Lance, look at me.” Shiro shakes him, but Lance doesn’t dare raise his head. Not until Shiro has to force him to look with a finger under the point of his jaw, “Of course I’m trying to make you feel better. It hurts when I see you like this but...I’m not just speaking from my ass, you know. Just because you’ve never heard me say it before doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“That’s not—” Lance’s chest shudders as he exhales, “Again. You’re just saying that to make me feel better. Because you _have to._ Because you’re our captain and you can’t ha—”

“Lance.”

“—You can’t let Voltron fail just because one of your Paladins can’t hold the fucking fort down. It makes sense to comfort me for the interest of the team or whate—”

_“Lance.”_

“—But I’m not stupid, okay? I can see through the bullshit so just g—”

Shiro cuts him off with a smack to the mouth. With his _lips._

Naturally, Lance’s erratic thought process fizzles out like Alka-Seltzer.

Shiro tastes like mint. Lance wonders if he’s trying out a new toothpaste or maybe he’s always tasted like mint, but he can’t mull over it too much because Shiro’s lips start moving. The Cuban pushes back, wiry arms wrapping around Shiro’s neck as the Black Paladin’s hands slide to his lower back, cradling Lance in his arms like the kiss actually means something to him.

Maybe it does.

“I like you, Lance.” Shiro pulls away with pink lips and a dazed look on his face, and for once, a small part of Lance might believe him. “Um, a lot, actually.”

“U-Uh,” Lance blinks with a slight recoil, and dread overshadows Shiro’s gorgeous fucking face like he did something wrong. Lance is quick to correct it...kind of, “No, _no_ , I mean—the kiss was uh—you’re the— _no, u-uhm.”_

He digs his face into Shiro’s shoulder the second he chuckles, at least relieved that he got the memo. “I like you too, asshole.”

Shiro’s chest vibrates with another laugh. “It’d be awkward if you didn’t.”

Lance hums in confirmation, a little sidetracked by the way Shiro’s lips move around his pearly whites and the difference in temperature between the scalding hands pressed against his back. The Cuban has never felt so small, yet so safe.

Lance wants to kiss him again.

Shiro keeps talking, but stops once he notices the aloof look on Lance’s face, “...You’re not listening to me, are you?”

Lance swallows, tearing his eyes away from Shiro’s lips. “I am.”

The Black Paladin doesn’t seem to believe him one bit, raising an eyebrow that’s far too attractive for Lance to be sat in his lap. “Then what did I just say?”

“U-Uh, you said,” Lance stutters, caught waist-deep in a white lie. He racks his brain for something— _anything_ that sounds vaguely familiar because he swears, he really _was_ listening, Shiro’s just too fucking pretty. “You said I should apologize to Keith in the morning?”

“Not quite,” Shiro purrs, and it’s deep and _sultry_ and Lance shivers when the hands on his back pull him close as the Paladin leans into his ear, “I was telling you how pretty you look in my lap, Lance. So _small.”_

The quiet groan Shiro lets out is all air but that only makes Lance’s blood run hotter, the big hands sliding from his back to his lower waist. Shiro gets distracted rubbing circles into his hips, and when Lance watches his adams apple bob up and down, a new sense of lust comes over him.

He’s turning Shiro _on._

Now aware he possesses such power, Lance experimentally rocks his hips forwards. Shiro bites a lip and groans again before looking up at the Cuban with half-lidded eyes. Lance almost cums on the spot.

He rocks his hips again, with more intent this time, curving his back in such a way that he can feel Shiro’s slowly growing cock through his pants, and _holy shit,_ he’s big.

“How far,” Shiro interrupts himself with a muffled moan, removing a hand from Lance’s hips to prop himself up, “How far are you willing to go? Because I—”

“All the way,” Lance pants, hips speeding up. There’s no way he’s _not_ feeling that thing Shiro’s packing inside of him. Right now. “Unless—unless you don’t wanna. Then we can—”

“All the way is fine,” Shiro chuckles. “All the way is very fine.”

In a flash, Lance’s shirt is off and Shiro’s thick fingers mess with the zipper to his jeans clumsily. Lance finds himself doing the same but faltering upon seeing the size of Shiro’s dick.

“Holy shit.”

The Black Paladin freezes, following Lance’s gaze on his crotch. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing _wrong,_ no,” Lance shakes his head vehemently, “Just um—you’re...uh…”

Shiro seems confused. _Somehow._

“I’m…”

“Your dick.” Lance sums, slamming his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to deal with the embarrassment, “It’s big.”

Shiro looks down at his slowly softening cock in confusion, before snorting. “I—It is?”

Lance rolls his eyes. Shiro _would_ be the type of guy unaware of his dick size in comparison to others. Though, looking at the rest of him, Lance presumes it’s all relative.

“So, um,” Shiro blinks up at him. “How do we do this?”

“How do we do...sex?” Lance giggles. Shiro _was_ MIA for a crucial part of his life, he supposes.

“U-Uh, yeah.” Shiro looks down at his dick guiltily. Lance finds it cute.

“Well, first we need lube.” He says, pouting when he realizes one of them will actually have to _move_ to go get some. And it’s probably going to be him, if Shiro’s “lack of experience” is anything to go by.

“Lube…” Shiro says, clicking the bottom of his tongue. A lightbulb dings and he’s digging into his pockets—which are now at his knees. “Like this?”

Shiro pulls out a small bottle of lube—more specifically, _Lance’s_ lube that he lost and had been stressing about for the past week until accepting the fact that maybe he had lost it in space. Lance can’t tell if knowing that Shiro has been holding onto it, completely _unaware,_ makes him feel better or worse.

“Uh, yeah.” Lance flashes him a grin. Shiro flashes a big one right back. “Okay...now I just gotta prep…”

Snatching the travel-sized bottle from his boyfriend (?)—which is funny, because this is space, and an _elephant_ is travel-sized at this point—Lance peels the rest of his skinny jeans off his skinny body before popping the cap open, slicking four in lube, because lord knows he’ll need it.

Shiro watches, fascinated, as Lance inserts a finger and shivers. He should just go straight to two seeing as he spent plenty of time in the shower this morning, so with that thought, he plunges his index in as well. He moans and struggles to hide it, grip tightening around the Black Paladin’s big shoulders. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro rasps, trying to peer over Lance’s shoulder to no avail. The Cuban laughs breathily.

“Sticking fingers up my ass,” he sums, giggling when Shiro’s nose scrunches in confusion.

“Why?”

“Because eventually,” the third finger prodding at his entrance forces Lance to bite a lip, shivering when he pushes forward. “That fucking thing is gonna go there.”

He tips his head so it’s _clear_ he’s referring to his ass, and Shiro’s eyes grow to the width of dinner plates. “In there?”

Lance nods.

_“Oh.”_

The grip around Lance’s waist tightens and it adds to the fuel burning in his gut. _Fuck._ He knows his body too well, and he really shouldn’t be opening himself up this languidly.

Lance pulls out the three fingers without using the fourth, deeming himself much too impatient and much too horny for another finger. It’ll be fine, he tells himself as he straddles his legs above Shiro’s fucking _monster cock._

Lance definitely needed that fourth finger.

“Fuck,” he spits as he’s fucking _impaled_ , forcing himself to stop halfway to breathe **because Shiro’s practically filling his lungs. _“Fuck.”_

Shiro seems equally wrecked, already sweating and shuddery-chested as he adjusts so he’s lying on his elbows. Lance dares to sink a bit lower, hissing when Shiro’s hips shudder.

“Sorry,” the Black Paladin slurs.

Lance shakes his head, opting to paw at Shiro’s chest instead. “‘S fine, just...gimme a sec.”

Shiro nods. His eyes are fixated where they’re connected and it encourages Lance to give himself one final push because it couldn’t be that bad, right? There’s barely any left.

Wrong. _Very wrong._

**_“Mierda!”_ **

Shiro jolts at the loud sound, trying to catch it by wrapping a hand around Lance’s mouth, “Lance! They’re asleep!”

But his panic falters when the Blue Paladin lifts his head, skin dyed turquoise from the aqua lights of the ship and tears swimming in his eyes. Shiro’s eyebrows fold and he moans right into Lance’s mouth, sending a flash of heat through the brunette’s body.

“You feel amazing.” Shiro groans, lying on his back so he can get a grip on Lance’s waist. It only pushes him deeper inside, and Lance’s toes curl in his socks. “So tight, _fuck.”_

The Blue Paladin whimpers and decides to rock his hips forwards, just to test. Nope. _Nope,_ he’s definitely not ready to move yet.

“Don’t—” Shiro pants, and swallows, “Don’t push yourself.”

The brunette nods, huffing a laugh. “You’re too big.”

Shiro returns it with a chuckle, furrowing his eyebrows, “Sorry?”

“No,” Lance shakes his head. “That’s a—that’s a good thing.”

He shivers and Shiro’s hips tense. It’s obvious the Black Paladin is growing impatient—as would Lance, if he stuck his giant cock into his perhaps much smaller person. Thinking about how big Shiro feels inside of him, he can only imagine how tight he must be.

“H-Here, can I—” Shiro slides his palms under Lance’s thighs, lifting both the brunette and his hips at the same time, “I’m gonna pull out, just a bit? If that’s o—”

“It’s fine,” Lance giggles, lightly wiggling his ass. “‘M ready.”

Shiro lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. It’s cute.

“Okay,” He says before his eyes regard the more pressing matter at hand. And then quietly, to himself, _“Okay.”_

Shiro carefully pulls his dick out, possibly halfway, and pushes back in. Lance’s hands scramble to his chest.

“O- _oh, slowly, slowly, slowly—”_

“Okay, okay,” Shiro sounds concerned and his hips still completely, so Lance allows himself to close the gap.

“A-Again.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Lance’s face flattens, wiggling his hips to prove his point. “Takashi Shirogane, I swear if you don’t _fuck me_ — _”_

The Black Paladin shivers, eyes fluttering to half-mast, and taking Lance off guard in the sexiest of ways. Voice deep, he rasps, “Call me that again.”

Shiro’s hips rock into him again and Lance whines through his confusion. “Shirogane?”

The dual-haired man grunts as they reach ****a steady rhythm, where Lance’s lower half isn’t quite on fire, but Shiro’s not going stir-crazy underneath him, “No. Takashi.”

The brunette nods. Lance feels _great_ —he feels full, too full yet somehow just the right amount. His veins are on fire and fingertips numb, and he can’t fucking believe he’s actually having sex with Takashi motherfucking Shiroga—

_“Takashi!”_

Shiro nails Lance’s prostate right on the head and stars explode on the back of his eyelids. He’s sure it’s loud because it sounds like Shiro’s shushing him, but it’s hard to hear past the rushing in his ears. Folding over, he haphazardly jams his lips on Shiro’s own and it’s nothing but teeth and spit, but hot nonetheless.

“I’m gonna cum,” Lance lifts his head to pant. Shiro’s cheeks are dusted strawberry red, matching the lovely shade painted on his lips as well, and Lance realizes he’s much closer than he thought. “I’m gonna cum like, _now, Takashi, can I_ — _”_

“Cum Lance,” Shiro’s chest rises and falls, eyebrows knitting, and _fuck_ Lance has got to keep his eyes open for this. “Cum with me, _please,_ c’mon—”

Lance’s whole body shivers and goes numb before he’s attacked by sensations on all sides—Shiro’s broken moan in his ear, Shiro spilling in his _gut,_ and the sheer winding force of his orgasm. Lance delicately trembles in Shiro’s big arms as the liquid kerosene in his veins is set alight, muffling sobs behind a fist.

Shiro collapses against the cool observatory ground, and Lance would, but he lacks the energy to um...unsheathe himself from his (again) boyfriend’s (?) cock. He should probably ask about that.

But, as the silence surrounds them both in a comfortable blanket, and Shiro wraps his arms around Lance’s smaller frame, the brunette knows the answer.


End file.
